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“I think he ran under the bed.” She slithers as far as she can beneath it, but it’s an antique sleigh bed and far too low to the ground to squeeze completely under it. “He’s here!” she exclaims. “In the top corner, near the wall.” She lowers her voice, attempting to sound soothing. “Come here, Simba. It’s okay. Come on, boy.” The screaming alarm cancels out whatever calming effect her voice may have on the cat.
“Avery, you need to get out of the house. I’ll get Simba.”
She shakes her head. “He won’t come to you, and the bed is too big to move.”
“Watch out,” I say, gently pushing her aside so that I can heave the massive mattress off the bed. Once it’s out of the way, I turn back to Avery. “I’m going to lift the box spring. When I do, you climb in and grab the cat, okay?”
I count to three before lifting the box spring and shifting my body to support the weight on my back. It’s like carrying a Volkswagen, but as soon as Avery steps into the empty space, the weight isn’t an issue. If the entire sky was falling, I’d bear the weight to protect her.
I’ve never felt this way about anyone, and know I’ll never feel this way again. There’s something about her. It’s biological. I feel it down to my bone marrow.
It’s a shame she hates me. But I can live with that, as long as she’s safe.
She leans down and scoops Simba into her arms. The cat’s eyes are wide with terror, but he doesn’t resist being carried. She steps out of the space, and I let the box spring fall back into place.
“Let’s get out here,” I say gently, placing a hand on Avery’s back to guide her out of the room.
When we near the front door, I hear the siren of the firetruck. As we step outside, it pulls alongside the house. Griff hops out first, already dressed in his full gear.
He’s not supposed to be on duty, but knowing my brother, he probably headed straight to the fire department when he left my house after dinner. Ever since Mercy left him, Griff’s been a workaholic.
“What’s the status?” he barks.
“The house is empty,” I report. “No people. No pets. No noticeable signs of fire or smoke.”
Griff relays the message to the rest of the crew, and they start a systematic search of the house. Avery and I stand on the curb and wait for more news. After a few minutes of silence, she turns toward me. “This isn’t some scare tactic from the HOA, is it?”
I blink in surprise. “What?”
Her eyes narrow with suspicion. “Your timing was odd, wasn’t it? Within seconds of the alarm going off, you were orchestrating a rescue. Did you have something to do with this?”
The words sting like a slap to the face. “You can’t be serious. I’m a firefighter. I put fires out. I don’t start them.”
The cat meows, seemingly annoyed by the chattering humans.
“Someone else then—” Avery says.
“Absolutely not,” I say, shaking my head. “No one in the HOA would do this. They’re sticklers for the rules, and they love to send written notices and issue sanctions, but they’re not arsonists. If there’s a fire, it’s more than likely a candle you failed to blow out or something.”
She scowls. “You’re saying it’s my fault?”
I shrug. “I doubt it was arson.”
She opens her mouth to retort, but Griff reemerges from the house.
“We’re seeing no sign of a fire,” he informs Avery, “so it could just be a faulty alarm. But to be safe, we need to have the arson investigator check into it further. He’ll get started first thing tomorrow.”
Avery nods. “Thank you.”
Griff and I stare in open surprise as she starts walking back to her house.
“Where do you think you’re going?” I demand.
She turns to me, cocking an eyebrow. “I’m going back to bed.”
“Not in there, you’re not,” I growl. Griff frowns at me, and I realize that I’m behaving possessively.
He clears his throat. “It’s not safe, Ms. George. Until there’s a full inspection, I wouldn’t advise sleeping in the house.”
